


Pretty Bird

by DarthFucamus



Series: Pretty Bird [1]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: BBW, Busty, F/M, Female Reader, Look but Don't Touch, Masturbation, Nintendo 64, No Intercourse, Voyeurism, dubcon, lucas is a creep, plus sized reader, sexual bargaining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-11-17 01:18:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11264964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthFucamus/pseuds/DarthFucamus
Summary: A captive of the Baker family uses her good looks and cleverness against Lucas to negotiate her way off the chopping block. He can look but he can't touch.There is no straight-up noncon in this, but as always the context makes any consent dubious.





	1. Peepshow

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing a 2nd person POV, hope you like it! As usual, thanks to FancyLadySnackCakes for her help and enthusiastic encouragement!

\--------------------------

The next time you hear footsteps on the floor above, you perk up. You rake your fingers through your hair to smooth some of the tangles, adjust your boobs so the cleavage shows better. Your clothes aren’t clean, but you at least managed not to pee on yourself like _Lauren_. To be fair it helps that you were given a little more slack on your shackles and could reach a bucket. But that’s what she gets for being stupid and mouthing off.

Over the last two days, you watched her run the gamut from pleading to insulting to gross crying, and then back to begging. She wasn’t nearly as cool as you used to think when you went to school together. And now, when you two are probably thoroughly going to die, you are extra pissed that she’s the last person you are going to see. Unless… yeah, someone is definitely coming.

You hope it’s the younger guy, who you’ve heard referred to as Lucas, and not his dad. You think he likes you. Or at least, of the two of you, you haven’t done anything to draw attention to yourself. Mostly he acts like a fucking zombie, mind somewhere else, but you’ve caught him checking you out the last couple of times he came by with some water. It isn’t much, usually just a sort of half-assed appraisal before returning to whatever faraway place he is while he tends to his duties. But it’s something.

The door to the basement creaks open. Light floods into the relative darkness around the shape of a tall, skinny man with his hood up. Lauren immediately starts whimpering, and you can tell she’s going to work up a good wail if you don’t do something.

He meanders with a slouchy gait and tugs the overhead chain to the hanging bulb, and suddenly his face is thrown into sharp relief, shadows from his eye sockets and bristly cheek hollows bleeding down, exaggerated and monstrous. He is picking his teeth with something. A chicken bone, you realize.

Your stomach gurgles but no one will be able to hear it over Lauren’s helpless sniffling.

He seems bored as he leans over the metal, chest-high stall door, delicately poking the pointed end of the poultry rib between his teeth, periodically sucking on them as if he’d just finished a big meal. Your water bowls are still full, and your bucket doesn’t need to be taken out yet, so you’re not really sure why he’s here now. He answers your question without being asked.

“So ah, looks like one o’ y’all are gonna have to die,” he says, as if this information were only mildly inconvenient. He shrugs with exaggerated and plainly false regret. “Yer buddy just rotted away after he took that saw to the face. Didn’t take to the sludge like he was s’posed to. Maybe I shoulda left more of his head...” He snorts to himself at this, his lips pressed in repressed glee, before he shakes his and and his face falls back into ambivalence.

“You killed Bret?!” Lauren shrieks, before it devolves into wordless gibbering sobs. His eyes flicker to her, but apart from that he doesn’t seem to be at all moved by her show of emotion.

“Just the way it is, sugartits,” he says with a shrug. “I tried to save y’all for last, you know, in case Evie wanted a big sister or somethin’... don’t look like it’s goin’ that way, though. It ain’t up to me.” He has to say the next part louder to speak over Lauren. “But I’ll be nice about it… I’ll let y’all choose who gets to die first.”

Your heart hammers in your chest at this. His mouth is serious but the narrow shine in his eyes tells you that offering this ‘mercy’ is at least a little bit gratifying to him in the way that pulling legs off a spider would be. You glance at Lauren, who’s sobbing, curled over herself, trying to pull on the metal ankle cuffs as if she’d be any more likely to slip out of them now than she was over the last two days. Stupid girl rubbed her wrists raw trying to get out, little better than an animal. Looks like it’s now or never.

“You got a girlfriend or somethin’?” you ask, speaking up in front of him for the first time since you first realized what was happening. You lean against the support pillar on your side of the stall, doing your best to look relaxed. For a moment, bug-eyes seems nonplussed as he looks at you again, and then his mouth cracks into a smile.

“Nah. You offerin’?” It’s a challenge laden with cynicism and a bit of spite. The question is loaded enough that you you worry you might have misjudged him and made him angry. Or, perhaps that you’d said the exactly right thing at the right time.

“No,” you answer, taking pleasure in the affronted expression that flickers over his face. “But I might show you some skin if you let me out of this goddamn barn.”

“C’mon now,” he drawls with a knowing smirk. “I ain’t gonna let you go just for a little peepshow. You think no one’s tried that shit before? I know I’m an ugly fucker, but I ain’t desperate. Don’t try nothin’ yer jus’ gonna regret when yer life’s flashin’ before yer eyes, that’s what I always say. ‘Sides, I got porn for that.”

You immediately know that you’re both right about him maybe not getting a lot of action, and that he isn’t a moron.

“Don’t let me go, then,” you say, keeping it cool. Lauren has stopped whimpering and is now listening to the exchange with a sort of hiccupping muteness. Again, you see Lucas at a loss for words. “Keep me captive or whatever. But I am sick of peeing in a bucket and being chained to this post.”

“What’re you sayin’?” he asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion, arms resting against the top of the gate with his long, veiny hands dangling, chicken bone pinched between his thumb and forefinger. His focus is firmly on you now, and you realize that you actually kind of like it. You aren’t usually the center of attention, that role is delegated to girls like Lauren who know how to laugh right and pluck their eyebrows with machine precision.

You chew it over, then you lean forward enough that your busty upper half is shown to better effect. You’re wearing a regular tee shirt, but with your endowments it doesn’t matter, the cleft between your breasts shows above the collar at this angle. You just hope he’s distracted enough to overlook the rest of you. To your pleasure, you see those beady eyes zero home, right where you wanted them. You give him a wry look.

“I want out of this barn. You look bored.” You shrug. “I ain't sayin’ you can fuck me or anythin’, but I'm not askin’ for much in return.”

He chews this over, glancing between you and Lauren, and you have a momentary misgiving that maybe he wasn’t attracted to chubby girls.

“So yer willin’ to throw yer friend under the bus then? That's cold.” He smiled as if this isn’t an insult.

“Unless… hey Lauren,” you say turning to her with a brief impulse of compassion. “You wanna make out a little? Give this poor guy a bit of a thrill?”

“Oooh baby,” Lucas oozes, rubbing his hands together. He still had a cynical edge to his voice but underneath it was the unmistakable current of excitement.

“Are you fucking serious?!” Lauren demands, missing the point entirely. “Fuck you! I can't believe you want to do that after what he did to…” her face screwed up. “T-to Bret. You fucking slut.”

“Bret was an asshole,” you answer, not trying to play nice anymore. Lucas laughs, nasally and genuine, at this. You’d tried to help her. This Lucas guy is probably at least a little desperate, despite his assertion, and if Lauren had come along with you, you both might have gotten out of this.

“You’re a fat slut,” Lauren hissed in a wobbly voice as angry tears streamed down her dirty face. You’re pretty sure she’s put out for more guys than you, and probably for stupider reasons, but there’s no point in arguing with her. You look back at Lucas, who’s been watching the conversation in silent amusement. You give him a shrug, as if to say ‘I tried.’

“Ah…” he groans with a sigh once he realizes you are waiting for an answer. He looks distinctly like he knew he might regret this later. “Alright, then. C’mon.”

You almost can't believe it. But you don't waste any time thinking about it further. When he looks like he's about to wander off, you clear your throat and rattle your chains.

“Ah goddammit,” he grumbles, patting down his pockets. “Don't have the key on me.” You're annoyed and disappointed. You're not so sure it'll work if he has time to think it over. But to your surprise, he unlatches the rusty gate and crouches his lean body down in front of you.

As he takes your ankle manacle in hand, you catch his eyes darting to your chest, and to your face, but when he catches you looking at him he looks away. He'd be cute if he weren't so greasy and tweaked out. Still, when his long fingers slip between your ankle and the metal, that contact is enough to make your skin crawl.

He squares his jaw and with a grunt, starts to pry the metal apart as if it were no more than a cheap adjustable ring from a quarter machine. The metal feels hot as it bends, and then snaps. It falls to the stall floor with a heavy clunk, and then you're free, but that show of strength was enough to put a bit of fear back in you.

Lauren watches you stand on shaky legs with a glare, but you're free and she isn't. You follow him to a wall around the corner. There are hooks that might have once held riding tack and horse harnesses, but now all they contain are dog collars. At least a dozen, different kinds of leather, all lockable. You look at him with apprehension and think maybe you should just go back to the stall and wait for death there.

“They won't let ya in the house if you ain't got somethin’ on you,” he says with something between amusement and regret as he takes one down. He hands it to you and you know then that you'll have to be complicit in your own captivity. But you also know he isn't going to force you. Maybe that's why you finally decide take it from him.

The leather band feels a little dirty, like it's been used before, but you try not to think about it as you unbuckle it and put it on. It's a little embarrassing but not as much as when he locks the buckle in place with a padlock and hooks a chain leash to it.

He guides you away, and with one last thought to Lauren, you let him lead you outside.

\------------------------

He takes you through the back yard and to the house, leading you by the leash with a little slack. It looks like it’s early evening outside. You take a deep breath of bayou air. Somehow the moist eggy stink doesn’t bother you anymore. You hate the swamp, but knowing it might be your last chance outside makes every second feel a little more important. But your captor doesn’t let you enjoy it for too long, because you’re inside the giant old house in a moment.

He takes you upstairs, and as you follow him, you have plenty of time to think about the mess you were in, and the bigger mess you were probably about to be in.

He leads you down some hallways, dingy with peeling paper and exposed wooden slats, and through a series of doors, locking every one behind him until you are sure you are not going to be able to escape him. There’s no going back, now, but already you feel better now that you’re no longer stuck with Lauren. It was getting to the point where you wanted to kill her yourself. You’re not a psycho, but you cannot abide useless people, especially if your own skin is on the line.

He brings you into a room that looks like an office that’s been converted into a living space. There’s a couch on the back wall strewn with bed pillows and half-covered by a sheet. It is worn out, stained, and you can see some of the cotton batting under the upholstery, but it’s fit for a queen compared to the hard, hay-strewn floor you’ve been sleeping on.

You spot a mostly-empty bucket of fried chicken sitting on the floor next to a cluttered computer desk. Monitors show security camera footage, little quadrants blinking in and out of view. There must be dozens of cameras, you realize, including one pointed at the barn stalls where you and Lauren had been kept. You look back at the chicken, hunger a greater priority than that horror creeping up your spine for being inside your captor’s monitoring room where he’s been watching you from afar.

You start to go over to the bucket when Lucas, who has been standing beside the office door while you take in your new surroundings, gives a gentle tug on the chain leash.

“Nuh-uh-uhhh,” he chides in a singsong voice. “You forget yer end of the deal already, cutie pie?”

You look back at him, and despite everything, you feel a spot of warmth surface in your cheeks. He’d called you cute. And while it was probably just a generic term of endearment, you didn’t detect any sarcasm or duplicity in it.

“Okay,” you say with some uncertainty, looking around. Lucas watches you expectantly. You tug at the collar with some discomfort. “Think you can take this off me first?”

He shakes his head.

“Nah… collar’s gotta stay on.”

“Maybe the leash?” you try. He hesitates. You latch on at that moment. “I ain't goin’ nowhere. You got all the power here, man. I'm at your mercy.”

You lay it on a bit thick, but it seems to be working, because Lucas bobs over to you, maybe a little awkward as he holds onto the collar and unclips the leash. Then he steps back and waits. He looks feverish and there's a faint sheen of sweat on his gaunt, sallow face. It's extremely uncomfortable now that you're alone with him. You rub your arm absently.

“So uh… what do ya want?” you ask, feeling very out of sorts. You aren't that shy, but you've never done anything like this before. Certainly not under such strained circumstances.

“Shit, I donno,” Lucas says, dropping the chain atop the desk with a loud clatter. He sounds exasperated. “This was yer idea. Show me them tiddies or sumthin’.”

You feel the blush creeping up, but also some indignation. You got yourself into this mess, though. With a deep breath, you avoid his eyes and start to lift the bottom of your shirt.

“Waitwaitwait, hold on a sec-” he blurts eagerly, stopping you with a gesture. He turns to the computer and bends over the keyboard. Awkwardly you lower your shirt again. Your pulse is going a mile a minute as he minimizes the security feed and brings up a music program.

A moment later, some music starts playing over the shitty monitor speakers. It’s creepy-sounding, bass-heavy and rife with electronic distortion, but then the beat picks up and it’s not so bad. Satisfied, Lucas slumps back into his desk chair and turns to face you, his lower lip pinched under his teeth hunger in his expression. He starts lightly drumming on his thigh to the beat. The way he’s sitting, with his long legs splayed open comfortably, your eyes keep getting drawn to his crotch like a magnet.

This is too fucking weird. Your hands stay knotted in the bottom of your shirt. This was your idea, you remind yourself.

“C’mon now,” he cajoles with a shitty smirk. “Don’t be shy now. Show me whut ya got under there.”

The music helps at least. You take a deep breath, crack your neck, and start lifting your shirt. Lucas starts breathing through his mouth. Self-conscious of your belly, you tug it up the rest of the way more quickly, showing your bra. It’s not a sexy bra by any means. It’s beige-colored and there are some hair dye stains on it from years ago, but it holds the girls up well enough. When you show Lucas, you hear his breath leave his body in a whoosh as if he’d just been deflated. You leave your shirt bunched up over the swell of your breasts, and with a small smile you know he won’t see because he’s not looking at your face, you cup the sides and smoosh them together.

Lucas’s eyes widen and his brows shoot up, setting bewildered horizontal wrinkles into his forehead. It’s almost like he’s never seen tits in person before. Maybe none as big as yours at least.

“Got- _damn_ , girl,” he exclaims, sitting forward a little. “Yer fully fuckin’ loaded, ain’tcha? Ya could kill a man with them things.”

You snort.

“I donno. Maybe if I smothered ‘em or something,” you say. Your cheeks are warm, now, but you don’t feel so embarrassed anymore. His enthusiasm certainly helps. Lucas makes a little choked noise.

“Mmmm, what a way ta go, I tell ya,” he says with a shake of his head, biting his lip and staring shamelessly at your assets from under his hood. It didn’t take much. You’re still wearing your bra, even. You realize that this might be easier than you thought.

“Can I have somethin’ to eat?” you ask. Lucas purses his lips, chewing it over. He can’t seem to stop his eyes from wandering, though. Despite the fact that you’re wearing a dog collar, and are a captive here, you feel like you have at least a little bit or bargaining power now.

“Yeah, you can have whatever you can find. I got some hot pockets in the back-” he starts, but you’ve already swooped in and grabbed the chicken bucket. There are only a couple pieces left, and they're cold, but seem fresh, probably from earlier in the day. You don’t even sit down or sort out your shirt or anything before you start delving in.

“Have a seat or somethin’, shit. I ain’t gonna take it away from ya. Yer like a starvin’ animal or somethin’.”

You give him a look as if to say ‘are you fucking serious?’ Did he forget already that you haven’t actually eaten anything since you got dragged out of your tent by his dad two days ago? Wasn’t like you were gonna touch that rotten offal he’d tried to give you and Lauren the first day. Lucas gestures, pushing his hand downward over his own chest.

“Can ya jus’... move it a lil’?” He was talking about the bucket, currently obscuring the view. You smirk around a mouthful of delicious, moist chicken and then take a seat on the couch. There, you hold the bucket on your lap so your boobs are showing over them. You mostly ignore him as you destroy a juicy, savory drumstick, tearing meat off the bone and swallowing it down. It’s the best fucking chicken you’ve ever eaten. He clearly doesn’t seem to care that you’re lacking in manners, or that you’re getting crumbs of fried breading on your cleavage. In fact, when you pick out the crumbs with greasy fingers, you hear him make a little strangled noise.

He’s staring at you with a tight, almost pained expression, licking his lips as if he maybe wants to lick them out himself.

That’s when you see he’s got a hard-on growing between his narrow thighs. The loose material of his pants tents just a bit in the groin region. It gives you pause.

You said he could look at you. It stood to reason that, if he liked what he saw, it might lead to this, but you hadn’t entirely planned this far ahead.

Plainly, Lucas likes what he sees. Maybe he likes girls with a little extra. Maybe he just isn’t that picky. You aren’t ugly or anything, but you aren’t a knockout, either. Except in the womanly features department; you have curves in abundance, something that can easily be a curse if you get the wrong kind of man’s attention. But Lucas doesn’t seem to have a BBW fetish or anything. The man just seems to appreciate a nice pair of tits.

You’re wearing a dog collar with your shirt pulled up, eating fried chicken with your bare hands while a grown man watches with growing desire in his eyes and in his pants. It’s surreal, but… you feel pretty fucking hot right now.

You follow a whim and drop the bone in the bucket so you can peel your shirt off all the way. You tug it over your head and toss it aside. You set the bucket on the floor, and stretching, push yourself forward so you’re reclining on the couch on your side, French-Girl style. You’re not sure what made you do it, but Lucas’s reaction is instantaneous and, frankly, unnerving.

His head hangs a little lower, bottom lip slack. His eyes follow the shape of you all stretched out, and even though he’s sitting nowhere near you, you feel your face and chest prickle with the heat of his visual exploration.

He adjusts his groin with a small grunt, presses his lips, licks them. He looks like he wants to eat you.

“You uh… comfortable?” he asks, sounding a little dry in the throat. He swallows hard.

Your eyes drop to his erection, even more obvious now.

“Yeah. What about you?” you ask with a sort of breathless anticipation. What is wrong with you? Part of you wants to know if he’ll kick himself off the chair and attack you. Maybe a teensy part of you even wants it, kind of. Of course, this isn’t some fantasy, this is reality, and you could very quickly find yourself raped and dead in a ditch, or with the same fate that befell Bret.

“A little… tight in the trousers if ya get my drift. Yer a real looker, baby.” He is smiling, but the way his teeth are clenched makes it look like more of a grimace.

His shameless desire and thoughtless compliments make you feel a sort of fearful excitement you haven’t felt before. Not since the time that boy you liked in high school took you for a drive in his dad’s car and went so fast you thought y’all were going to swerve off the road and smash against a tree. With the music blasting and the engine vibrating through the seats, you felt like you’d stepped outside of the normal boundaries of reality.

You kind of feel like that now.

“If you want to do something about it, I won’t mind. I mean… if you wanted to take care of that, I wouldn’t care,” you say, even though your face burns with something not exactly like shame. You try to act cool.

He presses his lips into a bloodless line, eyes pinching as he looks at your tits again. And then, as if he’d come to a decision, you watch his long, sinewy hands creep to his fly. He pushes the bottom of his hoodie out of the way and starts to undo his belt. His gaze keeps moving back to your body as if he’s afraid he’ll forget what you look like.

You don’t realize until your chest starts to hurt that you have been holding your breath. When you remember to breathe, you take short, shallow breaths. The music drowns out your heartbeat, but you can hear his zipper get tugged down as if every noise he makes is amplified. Lucas adjusts his position and slides his hand under the waistband of black underwear. It looks like boxer briefs.

He eases his dick out and now your mouth falls open. He is a goddamn monster. White and veiny, his pale dick blushes a deep red toward the moist tip as it juts obscenely over the stretched elastic waistband. He tugs the open fly down a little more. Without preamble, he spits into his hand and wraps his knobby knuckles around its girth.

A wave of dizziness passes over you when he starts to move his fist along the swollen cock shaft, like your brain is just starting to catch up to the fact that this is really happening.

You move a little bit to make sure the globes of your tits are on display to full effect. You feel almost high off of being the absolute center of his attention right now, from being the inspiration for his arousal. His hand moves jerkily, in fits and starts. His other hand cups his balls through the material of his jeans, and the sound of his breath whistling through his nose gets louder and coarser. He’s worrying at his bottom lip now, almost involuntarily.

You’re starting to feel physically uncomfortable, and when you adjust your position, you realize why. You’re turned on. He spits on his hand again, and this time a thin string of saliva hangs on his slack bottom lip, glistening in the light, but he doesn’t notice. The crease between his eyebrows deepens. With his mouth hanging open like that, the stubbly hollows of his cheeks look deeper. He pumps faster, his entire upper body jerking slightly with the movements.

This is disgusting. He’s a fucking creep, getting off to something like this. But, then you start to think maybe you’re a creep too. He hasn’t touched you yet, except incidentally. He’s barely even looked at you before now, but you can feel your blood rushing between your legs from the way he’s fucking you with his eyes as he fucks his own hand. The rhythmic slapping of wet skin is out of sync with the beat of the music, and the incongruity makes it even more pronounced. The sound of it sends hot shivers down your spine.

You shift your thighs to alleviate the pressure between your own legs. Your jeans feel too tight now, the seam of the groin is digging into your pussy hard enough that you can feel your pulse throbbing inside your damp underwear. You lick your own lips watching the blur that is his jerking hand movements, and then on impulse, you scoop your hands beneath your breasts and pull them out of the bra cups.

Lucas groans and slides down further into his slouch, and now you see his hips making tiny movements in time with his hand. His head lolls to the side, wide eyes fixed on your exposed breasts. You squeeze them for good measure, a little out of breath yourself as you watch him get off to the sight of you. And then Lucas’s throat bobs once, twice. His eyes roll back and with a helpless thrust into his hand, he shudders.

His hand slows and you see thick white fluid spurt from the dimpled tip of his cock and onto his fist. He sinks down further into his seat, and with a sigh and a pinched look, squeezes out the last dregs.

You remember to breathe again. Shakily, you tuck your tits back into your bra as you watch Lucas regain his bearings. Breathing rough, he turns in his chair, holding his jizzy hand still on his cock, and reaches for a roll of toilet paper sitting next to his keyboard. He unravels a wad one-handed with the ease of great practice and starts to clean himself off, wiping his hand and dabbing the tip gently.

“Yer right,” he says hoarsely, peering at you with a crooked grin. “This is way better’n porn.”

“Can I use the bathroom?” you ask. Your voice is a squeak. Lucas is a little surprised, but then his brain catches up.

“Yeah okay, sure.”

He tucks himself back into his pants, not before you see a tiny shred of toilet paper still stuck to the skin of his cock head. You pull your tee shirt on, completely distracted.

He escorts you out of the office to a small dingy bathroom next door. He lets you shut the door, but you can see that he’s standing and waiting outside.

Once in the small bathroom alone, the first thing you do is put your hands down your pants. You find that you are as slick as a fucking slip n’ slide down there. You’re a little bit in shock over that, but when you think about the expression on Lucas’s face as he jerked himself off, you get a residual thrill, and then maybe it’s not so surprising. He’s right there, on the other side of the door.

This whole situation is so bizarre, but there’s nothing else for it except to do what it takes to survive. And now you’re starting to think there’s some hope for that.

You wash your face in the tiny sink, use the toilet, and then wash your hands again. For some reason, you’re nervous about going back outside and seeing him, as if after what just happened you should be ashamed or embarrassed.

Or maybe, you think, just maybe instead you should be proud. You think of Lauren back in the barn and shake your head.

When you leave the bathroom again, Lucas doesn't seem the leastbit embarrassed, so you decide that you don't need to be either.

You fall asleep on his couch while he's bumming around on the internet. It's the best you've slept in years.


	2. Rude Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader gets a little more cozy, and a little more familiar with Lucas.  
> Surprise surprise, I made a playlist! It's on Spotify, so feel free to check it out. It's called Pretty Bird. https://open.spotify.com/user/1230836959/playlist/70xTcfRyL8py4E68cMCBGX

You wake up briefly confused about where you are. Soft music brings you back to the present.

When your groggy eyes crack open, you see Lucas sitting in his desk chair with his back to you, dismantling a cellphone while a movie plays on one of the two monitors. The other monitor endlessly cycles through security feeds. His hood is down, and you can see hints of a receding hairline.

The video is muted. He doesn’t even seem to be paying any attention to it, but suddenly it’s all you can look at. What you took as a scene in an action film is actually security footage inside a bank. Four figures in full black and ski masks are waving guns at cringing business men and women waiting in line. One of them fires their gun into the air, you can see the bright pop at the end of the barrel, and Lucas looks up to the screen with vague interest at this. The small screwdriver in his bony hand stops moving for a second.

“What is this?” you ask when your curiosity gets the better of you. Lucas looks back at you over his shoulder and gives you a brief mischievous smirk before he's looking at the screen again.

“Window shoppin’,” he answers cryptically.

You don't feel like asking what he means. Besides, you're only up here because of your good looks, best not to jeopardize that by getting too nosy with the man that's holding you captive.

Which reminds you.

“So… do you want to uhm…” you start to ask, but then you begin to feel awkward. Lucas turns to look back at you.

And suddenly you can't make your brain produce words, especially with him staring expectantly. So, you make a crude jack-off hand gesture. Lucas snorts and warmth creeps up your neck.

“Naah, I’m good. Ain't due fer another round til after lunch.” He says this with a wink.

This time you laugh but he doesn't. Just smirks at you before turning back to the cell phone parts on his desk. It looks like he's trying to build something new out of the pieces.

It’s clear he's not interested right now. So, you don't know what to do with yourself.

You look around the room. Your eyes land on his screen again. It's morbidly fascinating to see a real bank robbery unfold from the inside. But at the same time, it's a lot less exciting than it is in the movies. The people that were in line are on the ground with their fingers clasped on the back of their heads. One of the bank robbers watches the proceedings with a steady eye while the other two set to work and you lose interest quickly.

Your eyes roam over piles of books, old VCRs and computer parts, wires and cords, and other random shit that seems like it has just been collecting in the corners for a couple years.

“Ya wanna play a game?” he asks you suddenly. There's a darkly eager quality to his voice that makes you turn around slowly to look at him. You can tell that your dread shows on your face, but you can't hide it.

“What kind of game?” you ask carefully, thinking of Bret’s fate. He played one of Lucas’s games and apparently was missing most or all of his head now.

Lucas shrugs. You can't read his expression. It's notably blank, in the way a movie psycho’s might be. Anything could be going on behind those eyes.

“Board game,” he answers, as if he can tell what you were thinking. “You ever play chess?” he asks.

You’re still looking for a double meaning, or some hidden threat, but all you see is his gaunt face, wide-eyed in unfeigned hopefulness.

“Yeah, but it's been awhile and I'm no good at it,” you answer honestly. Lucas waves his hand dismissively.

“I'll go easy on ya.”

You aren't sure you should believe him. But the request is so benign, you’re actually curious to see if there's more to it or if he really is just bored.

“Okay,” you say finally. 

You both eat poptarts as he rifles through a bookshelf laden with all kinds of crap, including some things you think might have belonged to victims of the Baker family. He pulls out a wooden box. He shoves some things from the top of his desk to the back and opens the box atop the table. It’s a chess set. It looks old. You watch from the couch as he grabs a folded chair from behind the door and pops it open next to the desk.

Carefully, he goes through the pieces to make sure they’re all there, all the while, you puzzle over him. He was really serious about this. There was something a little sad about it, actually. When was the last time he'd done something so harmless for fun? And with another person?

He sets up the pieces, and he pats the folding chair seat with a look to you. You move over and sit down caddy-corner, uncomfortable at first by the strangeness of the situation.

He gives you the first move, not that it matters. Quickly you see that he knows very well what he’s doing. A few turns in you know this won’t be a long game.

Lucas’s outward amusement with your choice of strategy is irritating. You knew you weren’t any good at this, but still it rankles your pride when he snickers at you. At least he’s enjoying himself, right? He certainly seems to be in better spirits right now than he has the few other times you’d seen him, before he took an interest in you. And honestly, you’re enjoying yourself.

About twenty minutes in, you are starting to get more annoyed, though. You begin to take a little more time to think before making a move. You actually manage to take a couple of his pieces, but the end is near.

“You really ain’t any good at this are ya?” he asks with a quirk of his mouth. Forgetting for a moment that he’s your captor, you scowl at him. He sniggers and takes your other bishop. Your queen is vulnerable. And something about that really pisses you off.

He’s tapping his foot with pent up energy, and you see his eyes dart up to your face a couple times. No matter what you do, you won’t be able to protect your most powerful piece from him. You shouldn’t have used it so early, you should have waited.

He’s just itching to take your queen, you can tell. You’ve already gone over your options, but no matter how you see it, you’re trapped. He lets loose a sigh.

“You gonna move or whut? I mean, there ain’t nothin’ you can do, better jus’ get it over with.”

You can’t help but see the conversation through the lens of your current predicament. And you can’t tell for sure, but you think he does too.

“Nah. There’s always somethin’ I can do,” you mutter with reserved determination.

“Yer gonna lose, we both know it. Yer jus’ draggin’ it out, honeybuns.” he says with a smirk. “Delayin’ the  _ inevitable _ .”

You purse your lips to hide your annoyance. It’s just a game, but the feeling of frustration inside of you isn’t fake.

“You act like you don’t have a say in it,” you tell him, meeting his furtive glance. There’s no hiding the underlying connotation to your words anymore. He keeps his unapologetic gaze on you.

“I don’t make the rules, I’m just _ real good  _ at playin’.”

Interesting. You wonder how telling it is of his role in the fucked up family. Not in charge, no, perhaps not even on the same level his parents are. He just seems more aware of his position, and the rest of the pieces on the board so to speak.

“Then maybe you should try something you ain’t so good at,” you say with all the sass the words imply. You cross your arms over your chest and sit back, unwilling to make another move. Even though he hasn’t cheated, you feel like the odds were stacked against you from the start.

“Like what?” he asks with guarded interest. Your eyes go around the room, looking for anything, even a deck of cards. You’re not half bad at canasta.

There's a big CRT tv sitting to the side of the couch. This one looks whole, unlike some of the others. And behind it, there’s a black box that you recognize very well.

Without thinking about it, you get on the floor and start untangling the wires.

“Ahh… an’ what exactly are ya doin’?” he asked, amused and curious.

You glance back at him while tugging the Nintendo 64 console out from behind the tv, trailing cords.

“Does this work?” you ask.

Lucas stares at you, then leans to peer around you at the console on the floor.

“No idea,” he answers with the suggestion of a smile. “But I guess there’s one way to find out.”

You sit on the floor to uncover the shoebox he'd indicated. It looks like it was bought from a yard sale but was never opened. You are aware of him and his lanky stature as he comes over to look at the big TV. And then you move out of his way as he squats and grabs it.

He picks up the TV far too easily (the thing is a 40” monster from the 90s and probably weighs 50 or 60 pounds) and plants it a few feet in front of the couch. Unnerved and transfixed by his strength, you avoid staring by focusing on digging around in the shoebox full of game cartridges. There’s a mix of games for different consoles, but you spot one for the Nintendo 64 that makes you perk up.

Lucas plugs the TV in, and when you hand him the game console, he hooks that up, too. You think he’s stealing glances at you, but you try to act like you don’t notice.

The N64 powers on, to your excitement, and then the game starts up. The iconic GoldenEye music and the opening scene. You look at the horrible flat-faced character models, and suddenly you’re transported to a sweltering summer many years in the past. So many summers that you spent indoors playing against your friends. You’re on familiar ground again. 

It isn’t long before you’re sitting back on the couch, running through low-poly rendered maps spraying bullets. Lucas is perched sitting forward on the couch next to you, chewing his bottom lip in his absent-minded focus. He’s not doing so well in the game. In fact, you’re kicking his ass. It’s been a long time, but it’s like riding a bicycle.

“The fuck-” Lucas mutters when you pop around a corner and headshot him as he was preparing to set a timed charge. “Thought you were a level under me!”

You laugh, sinking into the couch comfortably when the match ends.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, I have about ten thousand hours in this game,” you say, unable to keep the smugness out of your voice. 

“Shoulda left you in the barn with yer friend,” he mutters, though you don’t pick up any hint of a threat in it. In fact, it’s a bit disconcerting that he doesn’t seem aware of how fucked up the whole situation is. You think of Lauren and you feel a pang of guilt. A brief one.

“You’re used to winning, aren’t ya?” you ask. You two are sitting a good cushion apart, but when you cross your legs in front of you, it brings your knee about six inches away from his leg.

“Haven’t exactly had a challenge in awhile,” he says slumping in place. He selects rematch before you can say anything to that. He’s got some pride tied to being good at stuff, it seems. It’s kind of cute that you’re wrecking him so thoroughly.

You concentrate on playing for the next minute or so, but your eyes keep dodging to him.

“Maybe you need something to make it a little more interestin’,” you answer.

“How’s that?”

On screen, you pick up the magnum and follow his little dot on the corner radar.

“If you win the next match, I’ll take something off,” you say as if this isn’t a big deal. Lucas’s attention is on you in an instant, and you know exactly where his mind went because his eyes follow close behind.

“Well that is interestin’,” he says with a leer. “My choice?”

You shrug. “Whatever. Sure, yeah.”

Lucas’s eyes narrow, and then he sees that your half of the screen is moving and concentrates on picking up guns and ammo crates. You note that he likes using the various explosives in game best.

“An’ what if you win?” he asks, trying to look at you and the TV at the same time. You can tell he’s wondering if you’re going to say something he might enjoy. Like he fully expects you to make the stripping two-sided. As much as you’d like to see more of him, and as weird as it is that you think he’s kind of cute, that isn’t exactly what you had in mind.

“You gotta make things more comfortable for Lauren,” you say. 

Lucas pauses the game.

“Now hol’ on a minute,” he starts, clearly incredulous. “Jus’ whut is the point o’ that? She ain’t done nothin’ for ya since you got here. ‘Sides, hate to break to to ya, but she ain't long for this world. Eveline’s gettin twitchy. I'm already pushin’ it with you. An’ after I uh…  _ accidentally  _ jacked up that thickneck...”

“Bret,” you interject, trying to muster horror and failing. Popular football player Bret made out with you once at a party then tried to get you to be his ‘secret’ girlfriend. When you turned him down he spread a rumor that you'd tried to blow him but he rejected you. “His name was Bret.”

“Well he ain't nuthin but worm food now, is he?”

You hate how that revelation is somehow satisfying. You look at the pause screen.

“I know she’s not really… a nice person. But a blanket and some pillows would go a long way. Maybe even a light or somethin. Some toilet paper at least-”

“What you want me to put some classical music on for her? Offer  _ room service _ ?” he says with a shitty smirk.

You shrug, unwavering. “Let’s just keep playing and see how far things go.”

He picks up the deliberate suggestive connotation of your words. If it were any game but this one, you might not be so nonchalant about offering up your modesty. He leans back a bit and purses his lips as he looks at you and thinks it over. The GoldenEye pause music adds a certain gravitas to his deliberation.

“Alright. One piece o’ clothing, as you said, but you can’t wear it the rest o’ the day. Wait! You can’t wear it ‘til I say.”

You’re trying very hard not to smile. The fact that he wants to see you naked so badly, but still on your terms, is kind of endearing. And uncomfortably pleasing. A little flare of prickly warmth flashes in your lower stomach because even now you see a hint of the way his face looked when he watched you while getting himself off.

“Fine. And when I win one, that's one amenity for the bitch in the barn,” you say with grin. It’s gratifying how he seems surprised by your choice of words, and snickers.

“Why?”

“Because… I mean what else do I got? I won’t be too broken up when I lose.”  _ When _ you lose. The word was chosen carefully. You can tell you’ve got Lucas right in the palm of your hand before he shoots you a crooked smirk.

“Awright,” he says. And then, without further word, he unpauses the game. You look at him a second longer. Did he take a shower or something? He looks a little less greasy than he did before. You don’t have time to think about it, because he’s coming for you.

You evade him in the game, your mind half on the TV, half back in the barn. 

“I ain’t gonna go easy on you no more, I hope you know that,” Lucas says. You smile.

You let him win the first time, deliberately tripping one of his proximity mines. While the digital blood spills down your half of the screen, camera wheeling away from the corpse of your character Oddjob, Lucas’s crowing is over-the-top. He’s so cocky now, you  _ almost _ feel bad.

“Alright, christ. What do you-”

“Pants,” he says before you can finish. You’re surprised. You fully expected him to want your shirt, and your expression only makes the sleaze in his smile deepen. “If this’s the last time ya let me win, I wannit ta count.”

Now you are at a loss and the heat climbs up into your face. Lucas watches the realization dawn on you with barely-contained satisfaction and chuckles.

“C’mon, baby. Pop the trunk and lemme see whut ya got stowed back there.”

His language makes this somehow more embarrassing. You’re definitely going to slay him after this. But right now… you stand up. Your hand’s shaking as you unbutton your jeans. You haven’t had a fresh pair of underwear for three days, but you managed to rinse them out in the bathroom sink that morning. They’re still a little damp. White with a faded pattern of red hearts means they might be a little translucent.

Lucas’s tongue darts over his slack bottom lip. You suck in your breath, and then, deciding you’d prefer to bend over facing him, you open your jeans. You peel them down your hips and awkwardly tug them over the crook of your knees. They are skinny jeans, so you actually have to hold onto the arm of the sofa to keep your balance as you yank the pant legs off your ankles one at a time. It's not graceful, or sensual. But Lucas’s breathing is getting louder all the same.

“Yeah. Now  _ that’s _ what I’m fuckin’ talkin’ about,” he growls. “You got some fuckin’ meat on you.”

You look up at him quickly, trying to tell if he’s making fun of you, but it’s abundantly clear he’s not. He does look a little hungry, though, and you wonder if he actually does chow down on the other  _ other _ white meat with the rest of his crazy family. But… no. This is lust, pure and simple.

You kick the jeans away and then you sit back down. You weren’t going to do a little dance for him, but it doesn’t look like it matters. Lucas’s ears are red and he’s already sporting a half-boner.

He runs his hand over his face and turns his attention back to GoldenEye. He’s a bit distracted. If you were to guess what was on his mind, you’d bet money it involves getting the rest of your clothes off. The way he sits forward now, you can tell he’s getting serious. This next match could be interesting.

You have to humiliate him in game for the way he made you blush, though. So you don’t even use a gun. You squat and karate chop him to death as he’s trying desperately to aim down at you.

Blood fills his half of the screen and you can see his boner’s gone. Good, both for your spite and for Lauren, though she has no idea yet of the deal you made for her.

You kill Lucas three more times, to his increasing agitation. Right when you’re thinking you should let him win again, you make a stupid mistake and he throws a grenade at exactly the right time.

He wants your bra this time, but you still have your shirt, so you wonder if his aim is to punish you and make you uncomfortable. You don’t give him the satisfaction of a free show, so you take your bra off underneath your shirt like you’ve known how to do since ninth grade. You don’t even get up to do this, and after tugging it through your shirtsleeve, you throw it at him. There’s days of sweat in that bra, and you can’t remember the last time you washed it before that. It didn’t stink yet, but it wasn’t exactly freshly laundered.

To your utter disgust, Lucas grabs the molded foam cups, big enough for him to wear one as a hat, crumples them in his hands, and stuffs his face right into them. He takes in a deep, profanely vocal breath in, his eyes rolling back. He lets it out in a throaty groan that makes you clench all the muscles in your groin. And then, with near-reverence, he slides it around the back of his neck where it hangs as if it were a gym towel.

You continue playing, a bit unnerved by the way he wears your bra around his neck like a trophy, but unable to stop thinking about his shamelessness. Is he doing this just to fuck with you? Is that what this is about? If so, he’s really maintaining the ruse. You don’t even know if he’s going to keep up his side, though he’s given you no reason to distrust him in this way. He’s not sane, that’s true, but he does seem guided by his own set of principles.

You kill him again and tea-bag his face in-game to add insult, but he doesn’t even seem to care anymore. By the time you two finish the seventh match, you’ve managed to land Lauren toilet paper (and baby wipes), some kind of light source, a sleeping bag, a pillow, and real food.

Speaking of food, that poptart has long worn out by now, too. When his stomach growls, yours almost seems to answer back.

“Damn,” he says looking at his watch. “It’s already half-past three. I got shit to do.”

You can’t believe how quickly the day’s gone. For a time, you actually managed to forget your predicament. You actually managed to have some fun. It must have done the same for Lucas because you realize he never had his post-lunch wank. When he stands, you sit there watching him.

“Where’re you goin’?” you ask, wondering if he’s just going to leave you alone and unattended up there, or if he’s going to throw you back in the barn.

“Don’t you worry none,” he says with a wink, tugging on his shoes. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

And then he’s gone. You hear the door lock behind him, and it’s not until then that you realize he’d still had your bra pulled around his neck and it makes you laugh.

Then you think about how alone you are right then. You think about escaping. There are plenty of tools just laying around in here. You don’t know how to pick locks, but you could remove the door hinge screws if you wanted to. It’s totally possible, and for a couple seconds, you’re thinking of what you're going to do when you get out of the room when your brain fills in the next logical step for you. 

It ends with you running into any number of the other residents of the house. Or the black goo things. From what it sounds like, Lucas isn’t supposed to have you in here. You almost smile thinking about him getting scolded by his nasty, bug-infested mother. Then you think about what would happen to you. Chances are, it’d be worse than a scolding.

You decide not to risk it. Crazy or not, Lucas is your best ally right now. Maybe you can be like Scheherazade in 1001 Arabian Nights. Except instead of stories every night to delay your own execution, you provide Lucas wank material. You’re pretty sure you’ll run out of new things to show him before day ten without resorting to crossing a very uncomfortable line, but it’s a better prospect than landing back in the barn with Lauren immediately.

You’re not really sure she’ll last that long, though.

You try to use his computer, but it’s locked. The security feed continues to cycle through the right side monitor, and every couple of minutes it lands on the cameras in the barn area. You see Lauren huddled in the corner and frown. You wonder if she regretting insulting you yet. If she wished she’d come with you before. But really, maybe it’s for the best. Something tells you that if she had come up here with you, things would have been a lot less comfortable.

You find a bag of potato chips that’s got about a quarter of the bag left, pull a room-temperature bottle from a plastic-wrapped flat of 48, and then you settle back on the couch and unpause the game.

\-------

Maybe two and a half hours pass by before something happening on the computer monitor makes you break your bleary eyes away from Banjo-Kazooie, the fourth game you’ve popped into the N64 since he left.

Lucas is in the barn. Lauren is cringing in her stall, and in your gut you feel a tightening of sympathetic fear.

But he's not acting aggressive. He is standing at the stall door with a paper bag in his hands and a drink.

There’s no sound but the pause screen music, but you can tell that she’s screaming her head off. Despite everything, you don’t really blame her. You watch as he tries to get close enough, key in hand, to undo her shackle, but she kicks him in the face before he has the chance and you laugh, feeling a little proud of Lauren, even if she’s not the brightest crayon in the box.

Lucas’s back bobs out of view, and moments later the paper bag is tossed into the stall. The cup is shoved by a broom across the floor. Lauren is frozen as she watches an electric lantern follow, pushed in the same way. Toilet paper flies in from off screen, a pack of baby wipes. A pillow that looks like it was pilfered from an old couch, and finally, a rolled-up sleeping bag. The feed is in greyscale, but you suspect that it’s one of the ones that belonged to you, Lauren, and Bret for your ill-fated camping trip.

Lauren watches something off camera, and then as soon as you figure Lucas is gone, she scrambles across the floor, grabs everything, and pulls it around herself. You stop watching when she hunches over the bag like a starving animal and begins to eat.

When he comes in about ten minutes later, you’re on the couch playing the game, fully pretending that you didn't see anything. He’s got a couple of greasy bags from a place called Roscoe’s Rib Shack, and the sweet smell of fried food and barbecue assaults your senses. Lucas kicks the office door shut behind him and gives you a quick glance.

He notices at this point how you’re laying on the couch, spread out so your ass is up and your cleavage shows through your collar. You can’t stop thinking about how he fulfilled his end of the bargain with Lauren. It's sweet. And so what if you show him a little bum? He's been… well, not a gentleman, but not a grabby-handed rapist either.

“Well Ah,” Lucas clears his throat, but his voice still comes out a bit hoarse. “Ah tried to make ‘er more comfortable, but she wasn’t feelin’ very uh… amicable. She sure is a pain in the… uh in the ass.”

He’s staring at your ass. You’re hungry, but right then all you want is to remind him why he’s letting you stay up there. And, not that you’ll ever admit it aloud, you want to watch him jack off again with those massive eyes peeled open peering at you.

You bite your bottom lip.

“Smells good,” you say, turning back to your game and shifting your position, ‘accidentally’ letting your shirt ride up a bit. You don’t really care about your tummy anymore because it’s clear he doesn’t either.

Lucas drops the bags and you make a noise of protest. He scrabbles to pick them up again, and you don’t think any real damage was done. It had been accidental by all appearances, a sign of the sway you held over him. It was fucking intoxicating.

“Maybe you should take care of some business before anything else, you think?” you say, sounding almost bored even though every inch of your exposed skin tingles. He sets the bag on the desk, wipes his presumably sweaty palms on his thighs, and goes for his zipper, without tearing his eyes off you.

All this to the hokey midi banjos in the game you’re playing. Considering where you are, in the backwoods southern bayou, it’s too much and you start laughing.

Lucas actually looks injured, and his long fingers falter at the button.

“Music,” you suggest. Lucas acts like he just noticed the game music and grins. As he obliges, you stretch forward, half-crawling off the couch to manually lower the volume on the TV. Lucas puts on some kind of prog metal, and you prop yourself up on one arm, waiting for the chance to see his cock again.

“Keep playin,” he says, wetting his lips with spit.

It seems like a strange request. But you unpause the game and move the characters around on the screen. It’s a juvenile game and doesn’t take your full attention. No, most of that is firmly on Lucas’s tall shape coming over to you. He stands a few feet away and just outside of your direct line of sight, looming creepily. You see in your peripheral when he pulls his dick out.

Your breath catches in your throat. He spits on his hand and really lavishes it on the head of his cock. Despite his request that you keep playing, you can’t stop yourself from looking. First at the knuckles wrapped around his shaft, which stands out farther than he can cover in one fist (he is really packing a lot of heat), and then up at his face.

He’s got a mean curl to his lip as he looks down at you that makes a thrill of nerves sink into your stomach. His hand begins to move in slow, deliberate strokes, and heat leaks from between your thighs, down to your knees. He's just gonna stand there and leer at you… the way he looks, like all sorts of nasty shit is going on in his head, it makes you equal parts uncomfortable and excited until it's a complicated jumble in your guts.

He pulls his lower lip between his teeth, and his head hangs a little lower on his neck, his posture slumping forward a little bit as he finds his rhythm. You wish he’d pull that hoodie up a little more, show you the muscles you know he must have under there.

Some enemy is attacking you onscreen and you hurry to attend to that situation. Your pulse is racing, but not because of the game.

You’re salivating. You swallow hard. The tension between keeping your eyes on the stupid video game and the animalistic urge you have to watch him masturbate is making it hard to think. So you find somewhere safe in the game and just make your guy run around in circles. Now your attention is all on Lucas.

“You like what you see?” you ask. It’s embarrassing how rough your own voice sounds, but the corners of Lucas’s mouth turn up.

“I’d like to see them thighs wrapped around muh waist,” he says in a low growl. You make a small noise that you try to cover up by coughing. You’re gripping the controller hard enough that one of your fingers are going numb. You loosen up your hold an iota.

But just then, Lucas pulls his jeans, and his boxer briefs, down. He lets them sit on his open thighs, below his flat ass so his entire midsection is completely bare. You can’t pretend to be paying attention to the game anymore. You are transfixed by the corners of his hip bones, the way they frame the firm, veiny stretch of lower abdomen, the dark, curly hairs growing at the base of his massive cock, which he pulls on with an almost graceful flourish of his wrist. Smooth, hard strokes from the base to tip, shining with lubricating saliva.

The blush in his cockhead deepens, and you can feel the wetness forming in your underwear.

It’s happening again. But it wasn’t like you didn’t expect it. After the way it made you feel yesterday, you only find it more agonizing today. You haven’t gotten yourself off in way too long, and now you’re feeling all that pent up desire coming back with a vengeance. Coupled with the stress from the last few days, and it’s a recipe for frustration.

You remember that you’re supposed to be playing, but you’re not sure if he just assumed you’d be bored, or if watching you play got him off. You move the joystick around one handed. Your other hand creeps to your back and, you hold your breath. 

You chew on your lip and decisively grab one full ass cheek in your hand. Your little character is now running into a wall and you don’t care, because all you’re looking at is Lucas and the foggy, unfocused glint in his sunken eyes. He’s grunting softly now as he tugs as himself, staring at the handful of ass you're holding.

“Yeah… yeah like that,” he groans.

He rolls his palm around his moist cockhead. He doesn’t seem to need spit anymore, he just spreads the drop of pearly fluid beading at the hole. His other hand creeps to the base of his dick while he does this. You can almost see his pulse in the vein traveling the length, and you feel something similar in your pussy. You press your thighs together hoping that you can do something about the building ache. It’s almost painful. You decide on impulse to smack your ass so it jiggles a bit.

When his hips start to jerk forward, you almost feel it. He’s still looking at you, but now with half-lidded eyes. His head bobs slightly with the movement. His pink cockhead juts out the end of his closed fist over and over, and every time, you feel your pussy muscles spasm. You try to imagine what it would feel like to have him humping like that inside of you. His sharp pelvis would hit the soft curves of your butt, and his dick is long enough that your plump ass would not be a problem. Not at all.

At some point you dropped the controller, maybe about the time he started pumping his hips. It doesn’t matter. Ass up, you grab the meat of your butt cheek again and squeeze, watching him. With your other hand you chew on your thumbnail. You  _ really _ want to touch yourself. More than anything else, you want to touch yourself.

But you don’t. It doesn’t stop your pelvic floor muscles from clenching rhythmically with his movements. He won't be able to tell you're doing kegels. It almost feels good, but it’s not quite enough, and it certainly doesn’t help your wetness.

His belt rattles as he fucks into both of his hands. He throws back his head, and with a shuddering groan, he cups the tip of his cock as jets of white cum spurt over his hand and down his shaft.

You’re holding your breath as he makes the final few thrusts, and squeezes the rest of his spunk out the end.

Lucas inhales, shuddering.

“God  _ damn, _ ” he says breathlessly. “That was jus’ what the doctor ordered.”

He grins at you and nods (m’lady), still holding his jizzy cock in hand. You think some drops spilled onto the floor. Then he turns to his desk and cleans himself up much as he had before. You catch sight of his narrow ass. There’s barely a crease there where it meets the thigh, but he tugs his jeans up before you can get a better look. He tosses the crumpled toilet paper into the trashcan next to his desk. 

“Better get washed up,” he says, more to himself than you.

“Me too,” you say, maybe too fast. Lucas glances at you curiously, re-buckling his belt.

“Alright, then.”

He leads you out into the hallway, and you try your best to keep your legs together in case your arousal is more obvious than you want it to be. You are still wearing no pants, and no bra (still got the collar on though) but this part of the house seems empty of all but you two. First, Lucas washes his hands in the tiny sink. Then he lets you have the bathroom to yourself.

“Hope you don’t mind if I get started eatin’, I’m starvin’,” he says with a languid stretch.

You mutter something like ‘sure, go ahead,’ but you’re not really paying attention. You close the bathroom door behind you, and a second later, you hear the office door shut too.

Alone, finally, you stare at yourself in the mirror. You think about everything that just happened, how close you got to touching yourself, and how tempting it was to think of him fucking you with that fat cock of his.

You wait a second to make sure no one’s in the hallway outside the door, and then you slip your hand between your legs.

Fucking drenched, enough that you can feel it just outside the elastic around the legs.

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself. This is insane. You’re a fucking captive… is this stockholme syndrome? Is this what it feels like, to be confronted almost constantly by the desire to have sex with the man who holds the literal key to your freedom? You run a finger between the leather dog collar and your neck skin. It’s so sweaty.

You start to touch yourself. It’s easy, your fingers slip between your pussy lips frictionlessly. Everything feels so tight and every touch is like fire.

The wet sounds of your fingers flicking back and forth across your swollen clit echoes closely in the small tiled bathroom. Somewhere on the other side of the wall, you hear rain. You bite your lip and think about Lucas watching you do this. Maybe he has a camera in there. Maybe he’s watching you right now.

Fuck. Your spine curls forward and your legs slide apart. You grip the edge of the sink. You can feel the hot shakiness building in your knees. You pinch your clit and squeeze the nub, and a wave of molten bliss spills out from your fingertips.

You come. It’s not hard, but it’s drawn out, and by the time the wave of pleasure passes, you have to catch your breath, regain your bearings. You hold your breath, wondering if you made any noise. You don’t think so. But you have to ask yourself if it would really be such a bad thing.

By the time you exit the bathroom, you’ve cleaned yourself off well. You could use a shower, but in a pinch, a clean washcloth and soap does just fine, and you’re feeling a lot fresher.

When you come back to his office, Lucas almost seems surprised to see you, as if he thought you might not be coming back or something. Another bank security camera is showing on his screen. Strange entertainment. He’s got his mouth around a rib bone, and is in the process of sucking the meat off. Your stomach growls.

“Go on, girl, you gotta eat. Roscoe’s got the best ribs in the state,” he says with barbeque sauce around the corners of his mouth. You want to lick it off. Instead you snatch the other bag off his desk and the huge soda next to it, and get comfortable on the floor, leaning against the front of the couch. As you slurp your soda, your eyes fall on the two dark spots where his jizz hit the carpet.

The food is phenomenal. It’s not hot anymore, but it doesn’t matter. You devour it, but not knowing when you’ll get more like it, you decide to save some for later.

Lucas is content to leave you alone for the rest of the evening. He comes and goes late into the night. Before you go to sleep, you look at the monitor when the security feed cycles back to the barn and note with some satisfaction that Lauren is passed out comfortably on the sleeping bag. Maybe tomorrow you’ll see what else you can do for her, and for you.

For now, you’re glad you’re alone up here with him. He’s a perv, yet… not once has he tried to touch you, or force you to do anything you didn’t want to do, relatively speaking. It makes you feel very conflicted about your situation, because you know you aren’t only doing these things for better treatment, or because you have no choice. There’s something more to it. But that’s a whole level of introspection you don’t want to get into.

You’ll worry about it later. Or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a BIG, OVERLY AFFECTIONATE hug and shoutout to FancyLadySnackCakes for being such a kickass second pair of eyes.


	3. Like an Animal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the last part of this little saga. Thank you SO SO MUCH to FancyLadySnackCakes for basically beta-ing this entire thing, for the gross sobbing and excited gibberish, and for catching the things I overlooked. Please enjoy.

On the fourth day, you go to visit Lauren while Lucas busies himself elsewhere in the building. When he indicated that he was going to leave you unattended for a while, you honestly didn’t even think about escaping. The black slime monsters squelching in the shadows on the way to the barn justified in your lack of concern, you felt. Whether or not it was Lucas who kept you locked up, you were trapped on the Baker property all the same.

Lauren is lounging against the wall of the stall in her clean clothes, reading a magazine by lamplight, all courtesy of your stupid little games with Lucas.

When she sees you, she stutters your name, surprised. She sees that you’re wearing nothing but a tee shirt and underwear, and avoids looking at you.

She seems to have figured out that you are responsible for her relatively comfortable situation. And, it seems that she’d also made assumptions about the lengths you had to go to get her those comforts. Without words, she’d made it plain that she thought you had let Lucas fuck you. Maybe your current outfit doesn’t do much to challenge that.

The last few days have changed her, though. Instead of disgust, she looks at you with a kind of guilt that is more gratifying than it should be. So, you don’t correct her assumptions, and neither of you talk about what you have had to do for Lucas to keep you both alive. It is kind of a fucked up thing to do, to play off her guilt, but you’d never quite forgiven her for the way she acted when you were trying to save both of your skins in the beginning.

You chat a little bit about stupid shit, things unrelated to the last few days. It is clear she is trying to be extra nice to you, and you let her and pretend to be none the wiser.

Before long, though, she actually apologizes. You already knew that when she got back in touch with you after so long, she was only interested in using you for your family’s summer cabin. But you let her organize a party anyway, hoping a weekend blowout would take your mind off of your last breakup. You wondered if the rest of the folks invited had partied without you, or if they’d called the cops when you never showed up.

Lauren was still chained up in the barn, but it is clear that she assumes that you are worse off, forced to stay with your captor and forced to let him do whatever depraved shit he wanted. You don’t correct her. Meanwhile, upstairs, you’ve been watching movies with Lucas and eating junk food and playing video games. And chatting about bullshit, or arguing about movies.

You don’t really feel bad about it though. And before too long, it’s clear that the conversation has died. With an awkward ‘see you later,’ you go to find Lucas.

On the fifth night, you lay down on the couch and drift in and out, watching Lucas assemble some kind of small, electronic object while he listens to a police scanner. You’ve gotten comfortable with your situation, slowly building up his trust that you’re not going to escape, and finding (honestly pretty fun) ways to keep yourself and Lauren alive.

You’re not really worried about being killed anymore (though Lauren’s fate is still up for debate), and you’ve decided Lucas isn’t the one you should be worried about. Well, except for the few times when he started talking to someone who was not there.

Earlier today, he sounded agitated and defensive as he waged a one-sided argument with someone, and while you didn’t totally understand the things he was saying, you knew it had something to do with you and Lauren and why you were still alive. He won the argument, and when he came back in, he gave you a brief look and then acted like it had never happened.

Whatever he was seeing, or hearing, in his head, was somehow part of the mysterious circumstances surrounding his family’s enslavement. You didn’t know if he was totally batshit out of his mind or not, but what mattered was that he fully believed it, and he was on your side, at least for now.

You like him, there’s no denying it anymore.

But there’s still a line you can’t cross, no matter how tempting it is, and it’s a line he hasn’t pushed you on.

You don’t let him touch you, at least not beyond the minor brushes of your knees when you’re playing, or accidental touches of the hands when he gives you something. They are tantalizing, and you have touched yourself again, thinking about his long-fingered hands grabbing you, a fantasy indulged in private. You can’t let it be more, in this situation, it’s just too fucked up. But the fact that he hasn’t even asked is reassuring. It is part of the reason why you think you’re starting to become attracted.

You fall asleep as you have the last few nights, without fear.

That night, though, at some point in the early morning hours, you wake to a feeling in the dark. The couch cushions are sinking under someone else’s weight. Your nerves are on edge, and just like that, you’re wide awake.

Lucas is climbing over your body to the gap behind you on the couch.

He’s left you alone before now, and you assume he sleeps somewhere else. You wonder if he’s finally cracked, and isn’t going to respect your boundaries anymore, if he’s going to cross the line.

But he’s being so careful, so quiet. He thinks you’re still asleep, you realize, and is trying his best not to wake you. The house creaks, as it often does at night, and you hear wind whistling through cracks somewhere through the walls. A clock ticks softly.

Your heart is racing, and for some reason, you don’t move, or make a noise. You want to see what he does when he thinks he’s the only one awake.

You were sleeping on the edge with your arm dangling over the side, so there’s room for him to slot behind you. You hear him grunt softly as he does his best to ease himself down without touching you, but some of it’s unavoidable. His stomach brushes your back through the material of your tee shirt, which has ridden up. Khakis lightly whisper on the back of your bare legs.

You stir to subtly give him more room, and he freezes. It almost makes you laugh, how sneaky he thinks he’s being, but you stifle it. After a suitable amount of time, you deepen your breaths to make him think you’re asleep again.

What the fuck is he doing? Is he trying to spoon you?

You wonder if you have the willpower to stop him from going too far. The thought of his body curling around you from behind, after days without human physical contact and near constant sexual tension, makes you feel hot and short of breath, and makes your chest ache with longing. Who would he have been if his family hadn’t met their strange and supernatural misfortune?

Probably still fucked up, you decide.

So much is going through your head as Lucas settles in. You picture his narrow body wedged into the crease between the back cushion and the seat cushions and the visual is actually pretty cute.

But the way Lucas is breathing through his mouth makes you suspect it’s not cuddling that he has in mind right now. Your suspicion is confirmed when you hear the soft scrape of the metal buckle in his pants. Heat flashes over your face in the dark when you realize exactly what he’s doing.

He’s never done this before, that you know of. He can’t even see you right now, but it seems that it doesn’t matter, he’s going to jack off right there in the dark. He didn’t do it that day, that you know of. It’s clear he’s doing his best not to touch you, though. Even in your sleep he doesn’t toe that line.

You hear the rustling of fabric, which now comes at a regular pace. He’s touching himself through his pants.

He swallows in the dark, and resumes breathing. It’s furtive and shaky, and you feel a guilty, prickling heat gather in your lower belly to think of him getting himself hard.

You’re frozen, now, eyes open wide and unseeing in the dark room. You are super attuned to his nearness and his every sound. The hairs on your body stand on end, and you feel the soft changes in air current on your lower back where there’s a gap between the bottom of your shirt and your panties.

As he lays just outside of your ability to feel him, there’s no way to tell if his front is a foot away from touching your back, or an eighth of an inch, but your combined body heats form a warm space between you. Your throat feels dry, and you try to swallow without making a sound as Lucas does whatever he’s doing.

WIthout really thinking about it, you answer the growing warmth between your thighs by squeezing your pelvic floor muscles, clenching in time with every soft scrape of his hand against the fibers of his pants, and then releasing.

This is how you’ve managed. You build yourself up, tease the arousal secretly, while he masturbates unaware of what you’re doing, and then when he’s done, you steal away to the bathroom to ‘wash up.’ It’s different this time.

You don’t know how you’re going to manage. You’re still pretending to be asleep, and from what you can tell, Lucas has no idea you’re not. It’s disgusting that he’s doing this when he thinks you’re asleep and unaware. At the same time, you feel like you’re listening in on something he wanted to keep to himself, his secret perversion, and it fucking thrills you. Filthy rude boy, getting himself off behind your sleeping body.

He swallows dryly and shifts his position slightly. You know he’s getting hard, perhaps enough that it’s starting to become uncomfortable for him. You’ve become somewhat familiar with the way his cock looks, straining against the front of his pants, so you can picture it clearly in your mind. He rubs himself a little faster, and you wonder if he’s planning to just cum like this. If so, you might be a little disappointed.

You think of his buggy, sunken eyes on the back of your head, open wide in the dark as he teases his cock and thinks about fucking you. Maybe, just maybe the fact that he thinks you’re not awake is part of the thrill for him.

The soft sounds of him touching himself through his pants stops. A second later, you hear him pull his fly zipper down so slowly that you can hear the metal toggle part each individual tooth. He makes a low, almost inaudible noise, and just like that, you feel a tickle in your pussy.

Moisture leaks into your underwear. You press your thighs together, but your arousal is more maddening now than it has been before. It’s been frustrating, trying to keep it a secret from him.

He’s so close to you you can’t move too much, or he’ll know you’re awake. Not only that, but he is oblivious to the effect he’s had on you, and it’s only been getting worse.

It’s been to the point where, when he’s not masturbating, you’re thinking about it, and wanting him to. You came so close to giving in and touching him today, to see what would happen if you broke that invisible barrier.

Something soft brushes your lower back, light as a feather. His knuckles as he takes his dick in hand. Blood rushes in your veins and sinks between your thighs until it feels tight, and you have to focus on keeping your breaths quiet. Your skin burns where his hand accidentally touched you. You clench everything, but it only makes it worse.

You don’t think you can wait until he’s done. What if he decides to sleep there? What if he gets on his computer and hangs around? You don’t want him to know how crazy he’s driving you, but with him hovering behind you so tantalizingly close, pleasuring himself to the thought of you, you _need relief._

So you shift your arm, make a small sleepy noise, and tuck your hand between your legs. As you predicted, he freezes and listens to you. You’re quiet. He’s not being that careful, because it’s not long before you feel the couch shift, hear his wet mouth open, and the sound of his tongue laving his fingers. Skin brushes down over the material of his shirt as he brings his hand to his cock. Quiet, moist sounds as he spreads his saliva over his cockhead.

Soft, wet noises, and a soft grunt comes when his hand starts to move, it makes your thighs tense together around your hand. Slowly, ever so slowly, you move your wrist and slip your hand into the front of your underwear.

You listen for Lucas to start pulling on his cock, gentle jerks of the cushion beneath you, before you slip your fingers between your slick lips and stroke your clit. It’s swollen and oversensitive. A ripple of delicious warmth urges you to do it again, and again, just the slightest flick of your fingertips.

Soon, you are doing it as the same rhythm as him, flipping your wet fingertips over your nub without moving the rest of your arm, and the heat starts to build, the tightening of muscles, the tense, breathless need to keep going, to find relief. Your pussy clenches, and the ache in the muscles at the entrance craves to be touched. If you can reach, just a little farther, you might be able to slip the first knuckle of your index finger in there.

The soft sucking of his palm sliding over his dick goes faster, and that’s when you take the risk. You push your hand farther back between your legs and tease your wet hole.

It feels so good, you make a small noise, accidentally.

Lucas slows his jerking, but his shallow, rapid breaths don’t abate.

You push your finger inside yourself to the second knuckle, and pull out again, chewing on your lip, almost dizzy with arousal. Something brushes your lower back, his fingertips, and you feel yourself jump under his touch.

He doesn’t stop jerking. And that’s when you know that you’re both pretending now, but the silence has weight to it, a sort of willful denial that you both participate in.

WIth your hand pinched between your soft, thick thighs, you push your finger inside of you up to the base knuckle, then pull out and caress the outer folds.

It seems that Lucas is just as aroused by the fact that you’re awake now, if not more so. His fingertips linger on your lower back as he tugs his cock. The couch cushion jolts with his movements.

The ripples of warmth generated by your own hand, and the thought of Lucas getting off to you getting off to him as he’s getting off to you, start to collide and compound.

He swallows hard and shifts. Now his breath is on the back of your neck. You hear his tongue move thickly in his mouth and it makes your own mouth water.

“Hey,” he whispers. His breath smells like toothpaste. “You gonna sing for me this time, birdy?”

You make a sound in answer that’s not quite a word. He knows you’re getting off to this. Maybe he knows what you’ve been doing all along, in secret.

His fingertips brush your skin as he lifts the bottom of your shirt, ever so carefully, to bare more of your lower back. Your entire spine tenses and you moan softly. You adjust your position until you can almost feel his front through the seat of your panties but you don’t want to get closer.

You are teasing him, and by some rule of self control he is letting you.

Lucas Baker, your not-quite-human captor and cold-blooded killer is driving you fucking crazy.

Part of you wants to push back into him, to see what he’d do. But the other part of you, the rational part, says this is as close as you should ever get, and that you’re already too close. But that fear is double-edged.

The danger sends a tingle to the arches of your feet, and you stretch them out, accidentally touching him.

The rapid fap of a damp palm sucking against skin is soon joined by the wet noise of you fingering yourself with one, then two fingers. It’s all too much. His harsh breaths in the dark room, the hot, humid air and that layer of body heat between you, the way the couch cushions sink under his weight and the barest touches of fabric against you, all work to set your nerves on fire until it feels like every minor contact is electrified.

Everything is more sensitive, and your fingers flicking your clit between your legs seems all the more effective at their task because of it.

“Touch me,” you whisper, feeling reckless and desperate. The fear bites, makes your heart pound between your legs. You hold your breath as you wait for his answer, or his grip.

Lucas makes a small, close-mouthed sound that comes from deep in his throat. You hear a palm rubbing against pants, his. He’s touching his thigh, as if he’s tempted. You hear his fingertips digging into the fabric. You don’t want to be the one to initiate contact, but every part of you is screaming for it. _Touch me, you lanky motherfucker_ , your feverish mind screams. _Get it over with. Fuck me, Lucas, fucking bury your cock in me and stop torturing me._

“Fuck me, Lucas,” you beg, near to the point of tears, to the point where your want is greater than your pride. When he still doesn’t touch you, you whimper and chew on your lip.

It’s not just you that is keeping that line in place. Lucas won’t touch you, either. His uncharacteristic self-restraint is driving you over the edge, and you begin to roll your clit around. Wet noises accompany your masturbation, and as you touch yourself, you bring your other hand to your mouth and start to chew on your fingers, hungry for something to distract you from the desire to roll your ass back into him.

“Are you gonna cum?” Lucas growls. You make a small noise behind your lips and nod. He can’t see you, but he must feel you because the soft _slap_ comes faster. Your right hand, tucked under your body, slicks furiously between your folds, moving fast enough to build up friction heat.

The entire area is burning with the need to be filled by him, tight with bloodflow, but you clench around your fingers, or nothing, and the denial pushes you higher. With both of you going at it, there was bound to be some accidental intersect.

Something wet, warm, and rounded touches the small of your back where your skin is exposed. It’s his dick.

By the way Lucas gasps, you know it wasn’t intentional, and the feel of his warm precum smearing on your skin, at first hot and then rapidly cooling, seems to sink into the base of your spine.

You prop one leg up for better access and plunge your fingers into your pussy. You fuck yourself as Lucas jacks himself off, sucking in each breath, and now he’s tapping you with the head of his cock every time his fist pumps. It’s the closest you’ve come to actually fucking, and as relatively tame as it is, it’s somehow more intimate than sex.

His mouth is so close to the back of your neck you feel his tongue brush your fine hairs when he licks his lips. Your hips move against your hand.

You feel the pressure building, coming to a crest. Just before you hit it, Lucas groans, twitches, and then a spurt of hot liquid gushes onto your lower back. It slides down as another spurt jets, and he’s pushing his dick against your skin, no longer accidental, as another pulse of spunk gushes onto your back. It slides down your heated skin to the elastic waistband of your underwear. With sharp hissing breaths, you feel him squeeze the last dregs onto you while those preceding it ooze down your back to pool between the seat cushion and your body.

“Cum fer me,” he growls in your ear. “Sing, pretty bird.”

That’s all it takes. Your heart is pounding, and you can’t believe it’s happening, but with Lucas behind you, rumbling in his chest, you give in to the sensations without worrying about anything else, like an animal.

Prickling heat spills from your legs down to your toes, you stop holding back your noises and utter a long, throaty moan when you hit that sweet burst of ecstasy. Your hand slows, stirring the sweet warmth until it starts to recede.

Your head rolls back and touches his shoulder, but he doesn’t shy away. Instead, his hand touches your hair, and for a brief moment, and in that small way, there is no line. You savor it as you let your shivers pass through you. With the solid heat of his firm shoulder on the nape of your neck, you sigh contentedly.

\----------

Lucas gets up before you can give in to the desire to curl up with him. He goes to the bathroom and returns with a towel. You simply shove it behind your back, not really caring enough to clean more thoroughly. And then he leaves.

Lucas doesn’t come back into the room. You don’t question it, and honestly you’re glad. You’re not sure you can stop yourself from going all the way now, and you feel like you need to let your head clear. After awhile, you turn over and go to sleep alone.

In the morning, Lucas is still gone, but you see the clothes you’ve lost in your little matches piled on his desk chair.

You feel a little troubled as you pull your pants on.

But you try to distract yourself with GoldenEye.

About mid morning, you see movement on the security feeds and pause your game.

At first, you don’t understand what you’re seeing. And then with a shock of realization, you know what it is. Lucas is dragging something from the outside. It’s a body.

Your mouth goes dry as you witness, for the first time, what happened to you and Lauren after Lucas’s dad knocked you out. It’s sickly fascinating, like the bank security camera recordings, to watch Lucas’s figure passing through the different camera views as he drags the body through the underground levels. He deposits the unconscious man in a stall and locks him in with a chain.

A second man follows the first. Lucas’s form hunches over as he locks shackles around his ankle, too.

It seems that the Baker family has two more victims. Another thought comes to you… but no… it couldn’t be. It can’t be.

Lucas returns to the room. His cheeks are flushed and he looks at you with his brows serious and his eyes narrowed.

He pulls a coarse-fibered sack out of his back pocket. You gape at him and mischief curls the corners of his mouth.

“Time ta letcha outta yer cage, birdy.”

You don’t know why you do as he asks, but you do.

He ties your wrists behind your back, and only then does he pull a key out of his pocket and unlock your collar, fingertips fluttering against your neck as he unbuckles it and pulls it off.

Neither of you say a word, and with every passing second, your understanding grows. He brings you out of the room, through the house, and to the front where there is a pickup truck waiting. Someone is sitting in the front seat, someone with a bag over their head.

It’s Lauren.

Lucas opens the driver side door. Lauren is weeping inside her bag.

“Lauren,” you say as Lucas holds the door for you.

“Ohmygoddd,” she wails your name. “I don’t wanna dieee.”

“Shut up,” you say, tersely, shooting Lucas a quick look. Your heart is pounding, and your breath is short. “ _Lauren_ … he’s letting us go.”

Lucas doesn’t correct you. That seems to work. She gulps another sob and sniffles, turning her head blindly.

WIth a glance at Lucas, you climb into the truck’s front seat shoving in next to Lauren. She doesn't complain when your hips press her into the door, though she might have made a comment a week ago. You can feel the shudders of her hiccups racking her body.

Lucas gives you a significant look, with a strange quirk to his mouth and a cold shine to his eyes, and then he pulls the bag over your head, too.

He buckles you in.

You stare ahead at the burlap fibers, trying to make out the indistinct light coming between the fibers as the truck’s engine rumbles through the seat. Lucas drives for awhile, and a country music station goes in and out on the radio. A couple times, he hums along. Every once in awhile, his hand brushes your leg as he shifts gears.

He’s driving carefully, probably so he doesn’t call attention to himself and the two women tied up in his front seat. Even so, you press into him every time he takes a right turn.

An urgent feeling starts to grow in your chest.

When the car rumbles to a stop, and Lucas gets out, the feeling gets worse. Part of you isn’t sure. Maybe he’s just going to kill you now, but you’re weirdly calm and you know that that is not the case.

Lauren has started whimpering again, and when Lucas opens the passenger side door, she squeals. You hear her buckle releasing, and then she’s not touching your side anymore.

She makes a startled noise, followed by an oof that sounds like it came from the ground. She calls him an asshole, and you hear him chuckle to himself. And then he touches your arm.

“A’right then,” he says to you, grabbing the bag and whipping it off your head.

You don’t know where you are. It looks like a dirt road, edged in by trees, but you can hear sounds of nearby traffic. A highway.

He reaches over you to unbuckle you, even though he couldv’e done it from the other side, and then goes back outside to wait. You scoot to the end of the seat and stretch your legs on solid ground. Lucas doesn’t look at you as he turns you around. He’s untying your wrists.

“Aren’t you gonna get in trouble?” you ask quietly, almost wishing Lauren wasn’t there to hear.

Lucas looks at you and he smirks, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Nah… sometimes the mold don’t take,” he said with a shrug. “Fer all they know, y’all’re dead. Don’t matter, anyhow. There’s two fresh ones waiting. Eveline’ll be fuckin _thrilled_.”

You look over to Lauren, and then you look back at the truck with its doors wide open. You rub the back of your neck, finding the alien sensation of no collar strange.

You glance at Lucas again, really drinking in the sight of him. You’re free. Two other people have taken your place, and while you don’t really want to waste energy thinking about them, you recognize just how lucky you are.

“So… that’s it, then?” you ask, unable to hide the disappointment, knowing you’re fucked and no amount of therapy will help you out of this hole. Lauren makes an incredulous noise and you kick a pine cone into the ditch on top of her. Lucas snorts, and then looks at you from under his brows, intense and unnerving. It sends a thrill straight to your belly.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he says, turning away and tugging up his hood. Without another word, he shuts the passenger side door, climbs into the driver’s seat, and leaves.

You watch the nondescript pickup truck disappear around a bend in the trees, and a shiver goes through you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it, even though this iteration of Lucas is a bit nicer than the other versions. The chapter title, of course, is from Closer.  
> I might have to write a little followup chapter... but we'll see ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Tip your writer! I accept payment in the form of comments and kudos!
> 
> title comes from the song Midnight Lucy by 18+


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